Showtime

It's crunch time.

Just as my absorption period as an Oleh Chadash (new immigrant) in Garin Tzabar had started, so to has it ended: with kittens. We have several new garfield-looking types living outside of our apartments.

It's the circle of liiiiiiife.

My draft into Israel's Armored Corps (שריון, or Shiryon) is tomorrow. In honor of this, the section titles for this week will be "What Am I Doing Tomorrow," "How Does it Feeeeeel," and "Thanks."

What Am I Doing Tomorrow
Tomorrow (November 24th,) I am drafting into the Israel Defense Forces. After waking up at 6:45 and eating a breakfast of champions (that's Hebrew for "cottage cheese"), my rakezet, my adoptive mom from Beit Rimon, and a few other friends from my garin will drive to the Tiberias recruiting center. There, a bus will be waiting to take me and the rest of the armored corps recruits in the area to the Bakum, an induction center outside of Tel Aviv. There, I will receive my uniform and other assorted army gear, attempt to learn how to tie boots (a daunting task, coming from a guy who always ad-libbed his ice skates), get poked by enough needles to pull off a passible hedgehog impression, meet with my army social worker, sleep, and be on my merry way to Shizafon (my base in the South - about eight hours away from Beit Rimon).

How Does It Feeeeeel?
Thanks for asking, Bob Dylan!
In truth, the idea of me drafting into the Israeli army simply stuns me. As an admittedly unathletic, socially awkward, trash 'stache sporting kid, I never pictured myself as "cool" enough to ever do anything as awesome as draft into the IDF and defend my people. Now, I feel as if I am where I need to be, doing what I need to do, because I'm awesome enough to do it (if you'll forgive the fear-induced bravado).
While I certainly feel a sense of destiny coming on, I also feel a sense of dread. It's a similar feeling to the one I had before transferring from my tiny Jewish day school to the massive public middle school down the road - complete with bizarre images of 8th graders managing to sneak onto my base and steal my lunch money. That being said, I survived Twelve Corners Middle School; I can survive training in the IDF.

Hell on Earth.

However, all in all, my overriding emotion is childish excitement. I'm going to be operating a tank within two months! All those times playing with toy soldiers? Now it's real! Super soaker? Howsabout an M-4? I have to wear green all the time? I look GREAT in green!

Thanks
I could not have gotten to this point in my life without the help, guidance, and influence of many people and institutions. I plan expressing this via phone conversation or in person, as I'm not sure my blog is the best place for it. However, just know that I couldn't have done this without you, soon-to-be-called-masses!

Now I'm off to finish packing (for my procrastination knows no bounds), and then to bed. Next time I write, it will be as a soldier. See you all next week, my handsome, handsome, readership.

The Quickest of Updates

It's Crunch Time?

It's been a busy few weeks on Kibbutz Beit Rimon for The Jake. The various members of my Garin - including myself - have been swamped with pre-army preparations (those socks certainly won't buy themselves...), as well as some last minute bureaucratic errands and/or tribulations. As it has been a fairly no-nonsense week for us all, this post will simply be an update as to what's going on in my garin in terms of drafting, as well as my acceptance into a combat unit.

The Garin Update

As of now, the "Absorption" period of Garin Tzabar has concluded. It was quite successful, with many of us becoming more comfortable with Hebrew through Ulpan classes or interactions with the Kibbutz residents, most of us already choosing adoptive families on the Kibbutz, and a significant portion of us getting our desired placements in the army. By the time this post has been published, three members of my Garin will have already drafted. In order of draft date, members of my garin have drafted to:

תותחנים (Totchanim, or Artillery): A combat unit that is mainly made up of self propelled howitzers and Multiple Launch Rocket Systems (MLRS), although it utilizes some other nifty gadgets, including drones and the sophisticated Tammuz missile. Notably, the member of my Garin who drafted there is now part of the 10% of Israeli women draftees who volunteer for combat units. Totchanim drafts on November 25th this year, although the draft for women combat soldiers was on the 14th.

חטיבת גולני (Chativat Golani, or Golani Brigade): The Golani Brigade is one of the most storied foot infantry units in the Israeli army. It has fought in every one of Israel's wars, and had active, if not historic, roles in all of said wars. It is made up of the 51st, 52nd, and 13th Battalions. Like all other infantry brigades, it contains a Palchan (demolitions division), Orev (anti-tank division), and Palsar (reconnaissance division). Golani also contains Israel's guerrilla fighting force, Egoz. This weekend, the member of my Garin who drafted to Golani plans on beginning his Gibush (trial) to be allowed to train and deploy with the Palsar. Golani's draft date was November 17th. However, due to a bureaucratic fluke, the member of my Garin who drafted to Golani drafted on the 18th.

חטיבת כפיר (Chativat Kfir, or Kfir Brigade): The Kfir Brigade is the youngest foot infantry brigade in Israel, as it was established in 2005. Depending on your political affiliation, they operate almost exclusively in Judea and Samaria/The West Bank/Chuck E. Cheese's. They specialize in counter-terrorism operations, and generally see the most "action" during peace time. Kfir is made up of  the Nachshon, Shimshon, Haruv, Duchifat, and Lavi Battalions. Also included in Kfir is Netzach Yehuda, a battalion made up of entirely religious soldiers with rigorous religious guidelines (ex: mandatory prayer three times a day), as well as Oketz, Israel's K9 division. Kfir drafted on November 19th. It is the last brigade to draft a member of my Garin until my draft date, bringing me to...

The Jake Update

Since my last update on my bureaucratic and health situation, I have spent a combined 14 hours on busses to and from pulmonologist related appointments, 2 hours on the phone with insurance companies, five minutes of nearly crying to said insurance company, and another half hour of inhaling asthma-test powder, it pleases me to write that I have finally received a combat profile. With a little extra push from Garin Tzabar, I plan on drafting to שריון (Shiryon, or the Armored Corps) this Sunday, November 24th.

That's it for now. I plan on publishing a more expansive, encompassing, and lively post within the next two days to sum up my experiences so far as well as to look forward to the next chapter in my time as an Oleh Chadash (new immigrant) in Israel.

Bureaucratic Nightmare in Dreamland

Wow, this one was a doozy.

If there is one thing every Oleh Chadash (New Immigrant) in Israel quickly learns, it is that there are two forces that drive Israeli society, always threatening to tear it to shreds. These forces are בירוקרטיה (Bureaucratiya, or Bureaucracy) and פרוטקציה (Protexia, or - as Google Translate puts it - favoritism). Due to the medical establishment's thorough documentation (or so it would seem) of my asthma, I have invoked the alternating ire and mercy of these two forces in my quest to draft into a combat unit in the Israel Defense Forces. Due to my bureaucratic misadventures over the past few weeks, the section titles will be "Bureaucratiya and Protexia: an Introduction (Yes, this Will be on the Final)," " It All Comes Back to Me," and "I Kinda Like this Paperwork Thing, Comrade"

Bureaucratiya and Protexia: an Introduction (Yes, this Will be on the Final)
Before we get going, Bureaucratiya will now be referred to as "Bureaucracy," because it's just that much more phonetically pleasing.
Since (and before) I officially made Aliyah, I've been subjected to Israel's many layered, sometimes entertaining, and always frustrating bureaucratic system. Every branch of the government here is built upon a mind-numbing amount of paperwork and as such can only function that way. Practically, what this means is that everyone who needs to get anything mildly useful from the Israeli government generally must to take a solid portion out of his day (anywhere ranging from one to three hours) and be prepared for a (un)healthy amount of paperwork, lines, and workers with moods ranging from "Best friend" to "Laser Eyes." These government employees can either make one's visit mildly pleasant or like something straight out of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" depending on how they feel that day. While this can be a tad daunting and frustrating, it occasionally has its perks. For instance, I have had experiences in which after waiting in line for a half hour to open up a bank account, I was shouted down by the clerk who I was assigned to because I was missing one out of many (to my eyes) indistinguishable forms. However, instead of despairing over the arbitrary nature of the system, I decided to embrace it, and simply got back in line. The next clerk received me with a warm smile and let me know that the form in question was not applicable to me and that I could open up an account immediately (it turns out that the form was my W-9. It is an incredibly necessary document unless one enjoys the occasional IRS audit. DO NOT FORGET TO BRING YOUR W-9).
Protexia, on the other hand, exists only to undermine the Bureaucracy. It is a metaphoric giant machete that is easily able to slice through the jungle of red tape that is Israeli Bureaucracy. Here's the way it works:
           
            1) Do you know someone who works in the government department you plan on visiting?
            2) You do? Great! You have Protexia! Depending on how high up your friend is in said                 government organization, you have may have just earned anything from free candy to a                 spot in the next Prime Ministerial election!

Israeli society is famous for its buddy-buddy attitude, an attitude that pervades the wheels that it runs on. While it's quite possible to have your problems solved by the system here, having a fun, extremely well connected uncle helps. I suppose in America you may regarded this as a tad corrupt. You would be right. That being said, the frequency with which every person in Israeli uses his or her Protexia just makes it a completely accepted and normal part of life, similar to driving 75 miles per hour on the interstate.

It All Comes Back to Me
Oh yes. Yes it does. I have been dealing with Israel's military and medical Bureaucracy for the past couple of months now, and it has not been enjoyable.
I have asthma. The army knows this because it is very apparent in my medical records that I order 100 doses of Budicort (a inhaler/steroid) at 100 micrograms per dose per month, 50 jets of Flixonaise nasal spray per month, as well as Ventolin, an emergency inhaler. When the doctor examining me at my Tzav Rishon (first army examinations) found this in my file, he told me to go take two pulmonary function exams. After much exerted effort to get the referral I needed from my insurance company, the reason that I was unable to get said referral was that I had no diagnosis for asthma.
In short, I was unable to get a referral to see a pulmonologist to diagnose me with a chronic condition (or a lack thereof) was that I had no diagnosis of a chronic condition.
With the date of my draft (vaguely in November) rapidly approaching (probably), I pressed the big red button I carry around and entered Panic Mode.
This would be where Protexia comes into the story. Desperate for a prompt appointment with a pulmonologist, I called a cousin who is good friends with a pulmonologist (who was unable to see me) who referred me to a pulmonologist that is covered by the medical insurance I have. After seeing the pulmonologist and taking two pulmonary function tests, the only conclusive result I got was... that the results were inconclusive, leaving me with a final medical examination this sunday in Jerusalem to earn eligibility to serve in a combat unit.

I Kinda Like this Paperwork Thing, Comrade
While I may have just elaborated on the frustrations one may face while dealing with Bureaucracy here, I am more grateful for it than anything else. At the end of the day, I realize what these paperwork giants prop up: really, really, cheap transportation and healthcare, both programs which are heavily subsidized by the government here.
Also, as annoying as my bureaucratic exploits may have been, I know that I have been relatively lucky. There are many people I know that have been facing bureaucratic struggles for the past year or so.
As a country that is propped up by 18 year olds with Tavor Assault Rifles, this country is built by 18 year olds, for 18 year olds. That means that government programs here are designed with the poor, frequently traveling freeloader in mind. While that results in a mountain of paperwork, this poor, frequently traveling freeloader doesn't mind.

There ya go, dearest of readers. This concludes the obligatory "bureaucracy is the work of satan" chapter of every aliyah blog. I hope it was somewhat less torturous than the bureaucratic process has been for me. Here is a picture of a tank. This one goes out to you, Mickey Zivan.

Ulpan and On and On

"Jewish Holiday Scheduling and Laziness Makes for Irregular Blog Posting" -Confucius


I would explain the tardiness of this post, but thankfully I don't need to thanks to an incredibly helpful quote from everyone's favorite philosopher of the Far East. It's been a busy few weeks, my radiant readership. My time has mainly been taken up by Ulpan classes in a recent attempt to improve my Hebrew speaking, comprehension, and accent skills. Due to the all-consuming nature of Ulpan, the section titles will be "What's an Israeli Pirate's Favorite Letter?," How to Lose a Language in 10 Days," as well as another "Things I Like" section.

What's an Israeli Pirate's Favorite Letter?
Roughly a month ago, I was fortunate enough to begin my Ulpan (Hebrew language) classes. As I have been placed in the advanced class at our Ulpan, we spend most of our time reading advanced (i.e. Eighth Grade reading level) Hebrew texts, learning academic Hebrew words, and writing  with enough passive voice to enrage the calmest of English teachers. I have been also working on a pet project of my own: the proper pronunciation of the Hebrew letter "ר'' ("Reish", or "R"). To all of my well-dressed readership who may be unaware, a native Hebrew speaker rolls his R's whilst saying a Hebrew word containing the letter Reish (it's something of a combination of the Spanish and French pronunciations of "R"), whereas my Reishes sound like an eight year old imitating a race car. Despite my best efforts, I have left the realm of "American Hebrew Speaker" to "American Speaker with a Speech Impediment;" I now sound as if I am gargling water while speaking Hebrew. That being said, I truly have learned a lot in Ulpan, and I am beginning to be able to express myself in Hebrew. This is a major improvement, and I look forward to the day when I can speak to Israelis without leaving them confused and/or scared.

 The average reaction of any and all Israeli babies I have spoken to.

How to Lose A Language in Ten Days
However, Ulpan - in addition to constant conversation with the Hebrew speaking staff on my Kibbutz - has left my English in less-than-stellar condition. I often find myself peppering my English conversations with Hebrew words, and am occasionally possessed by the urge to shout "ME TALK ENGLISH GOOD, YES?!" from our Kibbutz rooftops. I am taking this as a good sign, as it means that my Hebrew continues to ingrain itself into my mind. I look forward to being able to successfully negotiate with Israeli cab drivers soon.

Things I Like

Viva La Nostalgia

"Calvin and Hobbes" is one of the few things I have read in my childhood that I consistently come back to. I still remember my Dad reading it to me as a 6 year old and learning the valuable life lesson that such as life is all a matter of perception as well as crying from laughter from the use of the expression "Potty-Mouth". From waxing philosophical to the "Happy Hamster Dance," this comic is recommended to everyone. That means you, handsome.

Side note: Sorry about the recent delay everyone, I really do not have an excuse other than a nasty case of what the French call "procrastination." I hope to get back on a weekly posting schedule soon.

Madison Square Gadna

Howdy, Howdy, Howdy!


After a week of mock-basic training and army examinations I'm back, dear reader. In honor of the past week's events, this weeks sections will be titled "Jake Does the (Fake) Army," "Adventures In Bureaucracy," and a return of the beloved "Things I Like" section.

Jake Does the (Fake) Army

Last week, I participated in גדנ''ע (pronounced "Gadna"), a week of simulated, non-intensive, basic training run by the IDF. During said program, we learned how to operate and clean an M-16 as well as how to run to various areas of our base in the Negev Desert and stand in two lines within limited time. We also learned how to stand in a "ח" (chet, a letter in the Hebrew alphabet) formation, so named for its shape which resembles the Hebrew letter "ח", as well as a lowercase "n". We also learned how to stand in a "ח." We also learned how to stand in a "ח." We also learned how to stand in a "ח." We also learned how to stand in a "ח." Mostly, we learned how to stand in a "ח." While this endless chet-standing coupled did grow to feel a bit pointless, I was afforded the opportunity to be placed in a חילוני (chiloni, or secular) unit of Gadna participants. While at first I felt a bit of nervousness reminiscent of my days in public school (I was prepared for a slew of questions as to why I do not partake in the delicacy known to all as "bacon"), the group was nothing but respectful of my religiosity, and it was truly a pleasure to get to know them. This was fantastic preparation for the army, as I know that the vast majority of my fellow soldiers will not share the same religious views as I do.

All in all, Gadna was a pleasant and productive experience for me excluding one sphere: shooting. During the course of firing practice I may or may not have forgotten that keeping one's finger clamped to the trigger does, in fact, cause the gun to continue to fire. This was a bit of a problem, as I was constantly trying to adjust my positioning and sights. We did not receive a spray chart of where we shot afterward, but I would imagine that mine must have resembled something close to a Jackson Pollock painting. However, once I finished my week on "base," I was able begin with my real army prep, bringing us to...

Why yes, I would call my marksmanship "art"

Adventures in Bureaucracy

...my צו ראשון (Tzav Rishon, or "First Order")! This took place at a draft office located in Tiberias.  While at the draft office, I was asked to give the army - which up until now was unaware of my existence - my basic socioeconomic information, have my Hebrew skills evaluated, take a series of logic tests, as well as receive a physical examination proving I was fit for combat. As with most things involving the army, the process had the efficiency of a one man assembly line. Nevertheless, it was a rewarding eight hours, as it put me one step closer to my Draft Day.

While exchanging oddly personal niceties with the woman tasked with collecting my socioeconomic details ("How much would you say you're father makes in a year...?"), my less-than-stellar showing at my Hebrew evaluation (I'm quite sure I asked the examiner if my oral and written scores were special instead of asking if they were to be evaluated together), and my physical examination ("We don't know how bad your asthma is, please call back in a week"), were unpleasant, I genuinely enjoyed the logic examination. There is something absurdly enjoyable about doing graphic analogies and pattern recognitions, one of the many benefits I gleaned from my Math Blaster days.

God's gift to Kindergartners 

I have yet to receive my results from any of these examinations, but I am hoping for the best. I do so with good reason, as my socioeconomic, logic, physical, and hebrew results provide the basis for where I am allowed to serve, where I am mentally capable of serving, where I am physically capable of serving, and if I need to attend army-run Hebrew classes, respectively. 

Things I Like

City of Thieves, by David Benioff, is an absolutely fantastic book. It is a quick, compact story about two young men forced to find a dozen eggs for a Soviet general in a starving, World War II era Stalingrad. This book is one of the only novels I have read to make me tear up (no small feat), and could easily be described as a "Tragic Bromance." Recommended reading for anyone ages 15 and up.

That's it for this week, everyone! With Rosh Hashana coming up, I wish my Jewish readership a Shana Tova U'Mitukah. To everyone else, Happy Wednesday!

Move-In

This one goes out to all of the pomegranates out there.

This past Wednesday, I had the good fortune to finally move to my new kibbutz, בית רימון (Bet Rimon, or "Pomegranate House"). In honor of my relocation to my new hilltop home, today's section titles will be "Soldierly Doings", "Comrade Jake's Socialist Paradise Experience for Glory of Mother Country", and "Kibbutz Happenin's."

Soldierly Doings

On Wednesday, August 14th, I attended a תכס פתיחה (Tekes P'ticha, or "Opening Ceremony) for Garin Tzabar, the pre-army program I have joined. The unexpectedly adventurous journey to said ceremony wound through the Tel Aviv University campus and was replete with conflicting directions, treks up nonsensically placed flights of stairs, and bizarre street signs (including one with an arrow pointing directly away from our ceremony, in true "Little Rascals" fashion). I am convinced the route I had to take was specifically designed to weed out the weak from the program. That being said, I am pleased to tell you that Our Hero was able to brave the perils of upper-middle class Tel Aviv and eventually arrive at Smolarz Hall, the site of the ceremony. Upon my arrival, I located my fellow Garin members, filled out some paperwork, and attended a ceremony full of many nice people who said many nice things to the many nice new Garin Members in Hebrew, and then departed to my kibbutz, bringing us to...

Comrade Jake's Socialist Paradise Experience for Glory of Mother Country

So as it would turn out, my Kibbutz is not actually socialist. Roughly ten years ago, the Kibbutz (which had fallen upon hard times) made the decision to privatize. In practice, this means that members of the Kibbutz pay a tax that ensures them some sort of economic safety net as well as entitlement to an education stipend as well as bonds for the businesses (such as the kibbutz refet, or cowpen) that operate on Kibbutz grounds. That being said, there is no communal laundry, or dining hall, the two most commonly found. In fact, there is even a fully privatized housing development on the Kibbutz, which does not receive any of these benefits, but lives in markedly nicer housing.

Less of this...

...and more of this

However, despite "lacking" these services, the kibbutz more than makes up for it with its truly warm population. The folks over here at Bet Rimon have been nothing but welcoming, and a couple on Kibbutz even gave our Garin the gift that keeps on giving: stray kittens. The youth has been particularly welcoming, and has joined up with us for many village pow-wows, box socials, and the like.

Kibbutz Happenin's

So what are these pow-wows, you ask? Most recently, most of the Kibbutz youth (aged 14-19) joined our group for a "poike," a South African pot-luck style stew that is understandably popular in Israel, given that it tastes like the sweet, sweet nectar of the gods. One of the more memorable events that occurred during the poike involved one of the youth, who upon finding out that my Hebrew skills were a bit absent, decided to educate me via rapid fire bursts of Hebrew, shouts, and laughter. 24 hours later and I'm still not sure if

1) she was happy, angry, or amused with me

2) whether what was said was many sentences or one, very complex hebrew word that I have yet to decipher.

*Bonus Section:* What is Garin Tzabar?!
In short, Garin Tzabar is a program that aims to acculturate new immigrants to Israel through a series of pre-army exercises, hikes, אולפן (Ulpan, or Hebrew Language course), and settlement on a Kibbutz. In addition, the program aids us with  sets us up with "adoptive" families. We ( the future soldiers) can go to these families while we are on leave for meals, emotional support, or the odd game of Jenga if the mood so strikes us.





  

No, This Wasn't a One Time Thing

Oh hey, didn't see you there.

My mother used to say that the one thing she learned from being a Manchester coal miner was that I should never give anyone everything they wanted immediately, or they wouldn't respect you. Honoring that statement, I'm saving an introduction for next week.

Soldierly Doings:
Let's get real here. I can't really do all that much to prepare for the army while my running shoes, jumprope, and resistance bands are sitting in a suitcase on my kibbutz. I can promise you I have thought about working out quite a bit though, and sometimes I even get sweaty in the stuffy Yeshiva dorms I'm staying in.

General Observations:

While waiting for a bus to take me to the Malcha Mall in Jerusalem today, I reached into my pocket, fumbled around to try to find my iPod to switch songs (the Lord giveth a Blink-182 craving, the Lord taketh a Blink-182 craving away), and apparently dropped a 10 Agorot coin. How do I know this? Soon after said dropping, I felt a light, but persistent tapping on my shoulder. I originally thought it was some very large bug with discerning taste in human landing pads, but upon trying to swat the imagined bug, I inadvertently high-fived the small Sfardi (a Jew of recent middle-eastern descent) man behind me - the source of the tapping. He was holding my 10 Agorot coin and leaning toward me slightly. I thanked him and told him he could keep it; after all, the thing was worth 2 and a half cents and whenever I see them I am strangely reminded of my time at Chuck E. Cheese's.

Seriously, get out there and defraud your local Chuck E. Cheese. I'm sure they wouldn't even notice.

Mr. Sfardi simply would not have it.

Smiling insistently, he said something along the lines of "אחד ואחד זה שתיים" (echad v'echad zeh shtaim, or one and one is two), and pushed the coin towards my chest. I had the feeling that there was much to be learned from this wizened, mustachioed soul, and took the coin. After taking the coin, he seemed to be more satisfied by the fact I had taken the coin than anything else, as if his fiscal instruction of me was complete. This was probably the fourth or fifth time this sort of thing has happened to me.

Anyone who has spent time in Israel or haggled with an Israeli quickly realizes that Israelis are quite a thrifty bunch. However, it seems to me that it goes way beyond that. It's almost as if Israelis are vicariously thrifty through people. And it's universal. I've seen everyone ranging from Ethiopian kids to Ashkenazi (Jews of recent European decent) college students act the same way in similar situations. I have not been able to understand why this is. However, what I have done is attached tags to the ears of many unwitting Israelis and released them back into their natural habitats, hoping to monitor them and find out what it is that drives this monetary maternalism. I'll keep you, valued reader, posted.

Particularly Good Falafel Balls I have Consumed

Seeing as there are only so many fried bean balls I can consume in a week, this section will deal with restaurants in general. That being said...
Fish 'n' Chips. I had always heard rumors of the mythical reasonably priced cod that could be found in Israel, but I dismissed them right along with the Tremp Angel (the gorgeous driver that picks you up while hitchhiking and immediately demands that you date her) and the bus-without-the-smelly-guy. Oh how wrong I was. 35 Shekel gets you four large pieces of fried cod, a heap of fries, and 4 different kinds of tartar sauce (much to the dismay of Spongebob, I'm sure). Go to there now.

Things I Like

Johnny Cash, the only man I know of who can cover a song by a British rock sensation (the Beatles) and a song by an Angst rock sensation (Nine Inch Nails).

See you soon, faithful reader. Honestly, I simply cannot wait to move to my kibbutz as Drying-Paint-Viewing is rapidly becoming a more and more viable option for me.